


In a Carriage to Buckingham Palace

by daymarket



Series: Interludes in Transit [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Dialogue-Only, Family, Gen, Missing Scene, Sibling Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 09:01:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daymarket/pseuds/daymarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The plan: one final confrontation with Starrick at Buckingham Palace, and then they'll never have to see each other again. Until that happy moment of parting, though, they still have to tolerate each other's company. While trapped in a carriage, no less. With any luck, they won't kill each other before arriving at the ball...</p><p>[Part of a series of conversations throughout the story of AC:Syndicate, dialogue-only.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Carriage to Buckingham Palace

**Author's Note:**

> (Spoiler alert: they don't, in fact, kill each other. But it does come a bit close.)
> 
> Set in Sequence 9 right after Jacob picks up Evie for the ball and before they make it to Buckingham Palace. I've always vaguely wondered what went down in that carriage, and here's one interpretation of it.

“...”

“...”

“I'm surprised you even know how to wear a dress.”

“...”

“What exactly are you planning to do in it, anyway? Strangle Starrick with the hem of your gown? Or perhaps you have a knife concealed somewhere in all that frippery. Bloodstains would be so terribly unattractive, though; I'd hate to ruin that expensive fabric.”

“…”

“Oh, are you struck dumb by my dashing appearance? Cat got your tongue? I know I make a fine figure in this suit. Feel free to swoon.”

“...you cannot be  _serious_.”

“It speaks! And I'll have you know that I'm always serious.”

“You stole _Gladstone's_ coach?”

“You're just upset because it wasn't your idea. If we're going to crash the Queen's ball, we may as well do it in style, wouldn't you say?”

“Everyone knows what his coach looks like. There's going to be questions, and this mission is difficult enough already without arousing even more suspicion.”

“Oh, please. You think the guards in Buckingham Palace have the make and paint of every coach memorized? Trust me, the nobility don't bother with something as trivial as memorizing coaches.”

“Yes, and you would know, seeing as you're so aristocratic in taste and style.”

“Oh, good! You finally acknowledge my inherent nobility. Yes, thank you, just call me Sir Jacob Frye.”

“Of course. Make it into a joke. Did you think of this for all of two minutes before stealing his coach?”

“Did _you_ think for all of two minutes before you sent me to steal his invitations? Don't act all holier-than-thou.”

“I have been doing nothing _but_ thinking. Of London, of how to salvage your messes. And don't you think for a moment that I haven't heard about what happened at the Alhambra. Savaging London's economy wasn't enough, I suppose, you had to burn down a whole damned building _—_ ”

“I did not burn down the Alhambra.”

“Oh, pardon me. It burned down, and you just happened to be in it. Sheer coincidence.”

“Actually, yes. It would've burned down regardless of whether I was in there or not. At least I managed to kill Maxwell Roth before I left.”

“I _knew_ it."

"Of course! What act of clairvoyance have you performed now?"

"You promised that you weren't going to meet up with him! Damn it, Jacob.”

“What? I made no such promise.”

“You said you weren't going to accept the invitation.”

“And then I changed my mind. Am I not allowed to do that? Is it such a shock to you that I occasionally decide things for myself?”

“Oh, don't play the oppressed martyr. I didn't stop you from killing Tupenny, Elliotson, any other of the nameless Templars that you so seem to enjoy carving your way through. Are you even aware of what you've left in your wake?”

“For God's sake. Are you going to bring up the bloody Bank again? So there were a few counterfeiters that I missed, and a couple plates were stolen. If Freddy had come to me, I would've done just as fine a job fixing it!”

“It's not just about the damn Bank, Jacob! You are so focused on the immediate that you don't consider the ramifications. Here's one example, and believe me, I have many more. Did you know that Clara almost died? When you killed Elliotson, you threw the medical supply of the city into turmoil. She and the urchins under her care were dependent upon tonic, and I found her feverish and half-dead at Lambeth.”

“How is that my fault? The tonic was going to kill them anyway!”

“But you made it impossible for anyone to get medicine of any sort, good or bad. It was only a miracle that I stumbled upon her in time to acquire the proper supplies. Clara was sick, she could have died. Same with the Bank, same with Pearl Attaway and the sudden vacuum of power you left. Innocents can die when you don't think ahead, do you understand?”

“Oh, right, and where would she be if I hadn't taken care of it? She and her little friends would be stuck drinking Starrick's poison until they died in their early teens in one of his factories. You know, I would have taken care of it if I had known. You tell me not to play the martyr, but it's _you_ who's painting yourself into that role. I never asked you to sweep in and be the hero!”

“You never ask me anything! You, Jacob Frye, you think you are law and king and God himself, at least that's what I've been gathering from your actions. You go in and you assassinate without any direction whatsoever, and heaven help any poor fool who gets in your way!”

“Oh, right, my mistake! I forgot that I was supposed to be a mindless automaton under your command. Pardon me for breathing, I'm sure. Evie Frye, do you know what _your_ problem is? You're too damn controlling. You are all of four minutes older than I am, and you think that obliges me to hang onto your every word like it's made of gold.”

“Don't you dare put words in my mouth. I have never said _anything_ like that.”

“You've only scoffed at every damn thing I have done since we set foot in this city. You want to chase your little artifacts? Fine! I haven't stopped you—”

“—nor have I stopped _you_!”

“—but you would have us stagnate and pore over papers endlessly, while I at least tried to _do_ something! If you had your way, London would be exactly the same, and meanwhile the Templars solidify their stronghold by the day!”

“Don't make me laugh. You don't care about the politics of the issue or the intricacies of power. You just want to blaze your own trail. Don't pretend you thought for more than two seconds before you decided to start up the Rooks and your little gang fantasy.”

“ _Was I wrong about that_?”

“It could have so easily gone wrong. If we had been just a little bit less lucky, the Blighters could have ambushed us in numbers that we could not have overcome. We can only thank God that they're apparently as stupid as you are, because there are countless situations in which we could have both died!”

“Could, would, should. Is that all you can do? Harp endlessly on what might have been? You could've stayed in Crawley at that rate. In fact, you should have, because right now I'd be a damn lot calmer!”

“Calm as the grave, you mean, because your idiocy would've led you to an early death. Either that or we would be reading about the burning of London. Oh, I can see the headlines now. 'Moron storms city, the Empire falls'.”

“Don't be so disgustingly melodramatic. It doesn't suit you.”

“You're right, that's your specialty. Jacob Frye, you should be on the bloody stage. At least your theatrics might appeal to the after-dinner crowd, and with any luck none of them will die in the destruction you leave behind.”

“Oh ho! And you're such a paragon of perfection, are you? Who let Lucy Thorne slip away? I note that you still haven't acquired your fancy magical artifact despite your year of purported work. What exactly _have_ you accomplished, anyway? Making eyes at Henry, that's for sure—”

“Don't you dare bring Henry into this.”

“Am I insulting your dearest darling love? Do forgive me. I would never insult such a competent Assassin, one who has sat by and watched London fall to Templars and done nothing worthwhile in the meantime.”

“You know nothing of what Henry has done.”

“Because he has done nothing. And neither, apparently, have you.”

“Except endlessly clean up after you! So you don't want me to be your keeper, fine, but I am not your bloody maid.”

“Good, because I would've fired you ages ago. In fact, can I fire you right now? Out of this damn carriage in a cannon, hopefully somewhere far away where I don't have to listen you screech.”

“Don't worry your empty head about it. Once I find the Shroud, we're done, do you understand? You can face the full brunt of consequences for yourself. Maybe then you will learn how to look before you leap.”

“Bollocks! I'll just have to deal with my own immature self eternally, then, because you are never going to find that damn thing.”

“Oh, go to hell, you bloody prick.”

“Not if you're there, you sanctimonious twat.”

“Oh, how witty. Too bad you can't put it to better use. Also, your hair looks terrible. Did you even comb it?”

“Your face looks terrible. Too bad you can't do anything about that.”

“Maturity at its finest, I see.”

“You're one to talk. Now shut up and smile, the guard's looking at you.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“See? And you were all worried about nothing. The guard had no idea. Like I told you, no one cares about carriages enough to memorize them.”

“You didn't even notice, did you? That was Gladstone back there. It could've been so much worse if he'd kicked up more of a fuss.”

“And yet, it wasn't. You worry like an old woman.”

“And you don't worry near enough.”

“I'll just have to live with my flaws. It will be a tragedy, I tell you.”

“For all those around you, yes. And I'm done arguing about this with you. Let's get this over with.”

“Fine. I can't wait to be rid of you.”

“Fine!”

**Author's Note:**

> For those wanting to read what happens after the events of Sequence 9, I wrote my version of [after the battle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5317112/chapters/13010152) in my other fic, _Strands_. /shamelessplug


End file.
